


Devil's Advocate

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drugs, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destruction, drugs, violence, kidnapping, rape. Every one of these words describes Dean Winchester's new life as he enters college for the first time at the age of seventeen. Dean was considered a genius, able to understand things that people his age couldn't even begin to fathom. Understanding quantum mechanics, solving astrophysical issues, figuring out theories suggested by Stephen Hawking, he wanted to pursue a PhD physics. Meeting Castiel Novak completely flipped his world around and made his life a living hell. Dealing with someone who always wanted to harass and bother him, it felt like he was in high school all over again. When meeting one of Castiel's friends, Alastair, he knew something was wrong. Within the next week, news reports of a missing teenage genius flashed across television screens all over the nation. CNN, Fox News, and other major news networks covered his disappearance every step of the way, until eventually, people stopped searching for him. Dean's days are numbered, can he be rescued in time, or will he just become another cold case?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Advocate

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I have been working on for quite some time. It's dark, probably triggering, and violent. If you do not wish to see these themes, please exit now. The first couple chapters aren't dark, but they get there eventually. The warning might change from mature to explicit, depending on where I take the story. I thank you for reading and hope you enjoy. I have had a friend tell me it seems kind of Wincest-y, but I assure you, it is just showing a bond between brothers. I have no problem with Wincest, but this is not a Wincest story.
> 
> Characters will be added as I write them. Same with the Additional Tags.
> 
> New note 10/29/2015: I have changed the name to Devil's Advocate. Expect chapter 2 by no later than the end of November.

“Dean?” A scratchy and tired voice echoed through the hallway, causing Dean to cringe; it was almost as if someone scraped their nails down a chalkboard, at least, that is what it felt like in his drunken haze.

“Sup, Sammy?” He questioned back as he peered at the thirteen year old trudging into the living room, dragging sock covered feet across the carpet. “Or should I say Mister Static Electricity.”

The amount of alcohol one could consume in one night was unparalleled to the amount seventeen year old Dean Winchester could consume in one night. Where one would take five straight shots without chasers, Dean would take seven. Where one would down ten beers, Dean would down twenty. It was unhealthy, sure, but at least he had a handle on his speech; with many years of practice, of course. He usually only drank when John wasn’t home so he had full access to the man’s liquor cabinet. Their father would come back eventually, he knew, but he could get his fill and purchase replacements before he even set boot through that door. Ever since his mother’s death when he was four, he would suffer from depression, to the point where he would become suicidal. It was age ten when his lips first curled around the mouth of his father’s Jack Daniel’s bottle and he took a long swig. The whiskey was sweet, but not unpleasant, so he took another two or three before he found himself vomiting at three am. It wasn’t a pretty sight, especially since Sam had walked in on him to use the bathroom. Kid didn’t know or understand at the time, being six, but Dean vowed to never get sick like that in front of him again, especially induced by alcohol.

His little brother rubbed at his eyes sleepily as he tried to adjust to the light from the television. “Y’gonna come sleep soon? It’s two am.”

“Yeah, be there soon, kiddo,” He nodded, not entirely remembering the concept of time.

“Kay. You know, you’re too smart to be drinking,” He hummed quietly and walked slowly back to their bedroom, continuing not to pick up his feet.

Dean shook his head and sighed, getting up, stumbling a bit, and somehow managed to shut the TV off without knocking it off the stand. Last time he did that, John made him pay for a new one, because sober people _obviously_ break televisions in the middle of the night. He made the excuse that he was going for a glass of water and couldn’t see where he was going. John bought it that time, but the next; he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. He was surprised his father didn’t keep a breathalyzer around to make sure his sons weren’t drinking. He hated when either of them would point out his intelligence. It made him feel weak, but he wasn’t sure how, yet. He had always been gifted, though the alcohol must have knocked off a few IQ points over time. No one should be as smart as he was, but when his acceptance letter came in from Kansas University, he knew that it was a lot more than he would credit himself for. Sometime during his first week there, they wanted him to do a presentation to part of the college; the specifics, he forgot, thanks to booze. He never intended on going to KU, but he needed to stay close to his brother until he turned eighteen. To put it in better perspective, KU was like a community college in comparison to Yale, which is where he really wanted to get into.

He got himself down the hallway, partially forgetting what he was thinking about in the living room. Dean supported his weight on the door frame to the shared bedroom, staring at Sam curled up under the covers. His slightly long hair covered the top of his eyes as he slept, which usually bothered him, but he seemed too out to care. Dean huffed and shuffled into the room, ignoring his own bed to crawl into his brother’s. Normally he slept in his own, but this exception was made so the kid wouldn’t feel so alone. The second he got under the sheets and fixed that annoying hair, he found arms wrapping around his neck and a head resting against his chest. He chewed on his lip momentarily before shrugging slightly and spacing off at the far wall, blackened by the night. He held onto Sam tighter as memories of the fatal fire swarmed his brain, which wasn’t much, but he could recall the scorching heat and the flames dancing along the walls. It took ten years until the police released that it was caused by an arsonist named Azazel and they caught the man. Odd name, it sounded almost demonic, but Dean never thought too much into it. He needed to keep his focus on Sammy and make sure he was okay.

He must have fallen asleep sometime after battling his memories, because the soft light of morning was waking him up. He let out a soft groan as a hangover hit, making him regret drinking, though only somewhat. The headache, nausea, and dizziness would pass throughout the day and just because he was used to it, didn’t mean he liked it. He sat up in bed as slowly as possible, brought his knees up, rested his elbows on them, and then cradled his head in his hands. He inhaled sharply and exhaled deeply as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Sam approached him before that could happen with a glass of water and two Tylenol, one of the perfect remedies for hangovers if there was one. He downed the two pills, smiled crookedly at his brother, and reached up to mess with his hair, as if his bed head wasn’t enough. Sam scoffed and recoiled, muttering a good morning, before scampering away from further assault on his hair. Dean smiled and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stripping himself of clothing and strutting into the bathroom. He knew it was okay to walk around naked; Sam didn’t care much, but he usually tried to avoid his brother from seeing. It’s a bit awkward, you know, letting your sibling see you stark nude, in your birthday suit; just because you’re related doesn’t mean you should form a nudist colony, or should you?

He shrugged while shutting the door, successfully cutting off his thoughts, moving to turn on the water to the hot side, then going to stare at himself in the mirror. He hummed a quiet tune while looking himself over to make sure nothing had changed, running his fingers over the stubble on his chin, and stretching as high as his legs and arms would permit. With a satisfied sigh, he walked to the shower and stepped inside, exhaling and rolling his shoulders when the water hit his upper back. He was quiet, for once, not finding the need or desire to touch himself and get rid of the morning wood that was stiffening even further between his legs. It was uncomfortable, yes, but with the massive hangover still pounding against his skull, he couldn’t bring himself to get off. Dean carded his hands back through his hair, blinking as the water lightly sprayed into his eyes, and sighed contently. He shifted his weight to his left leg, allowing the stream from the shower to hit the back of his head as he stared at the bottom of the bath tub. The water was like a massage and did quite a bit to help alleviate the headache he had as he waited for Tylenol to kick in.

There was a sudden knock on the door, causing him to jump and knock into the shampoo bottle, which fell and hit him in the foot. He yelped from the pain and quickly shut off the water so he could stick his head out and respond to whoever was there, which was more than likely Sam. The cold air rushed in, immediately killing the morning wood that was slowly trying to make itself more known. Jesus, he forgot he had left the air conditioner on all night, so it made the smallish house like an ice cube. He reached down and picked up the bottle that hit him and placed it back on the little ledge that was made specifically for it. He took a moment to rub at the red mark on his foot to help get rid of the pain, grimacing slightly, but dealing with it nonetheless.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice came somewhat muted through the closed door. “Need to talk to you.”

He sounded nervous and Dean sighed. “Yeah, kid. Give me a minute.”

He shrugged his shoulders and rolled them for a second before stepping out and grabbing hold of the blue towel that was hanging up on the wall, opposite to the sink. He rubbed at his hair, making it stand out in every direction possible, before grumbling, patting it down, and then getting the rest of the water off his body. He wrapped the towel securely around his waist, abandoning his shower, and opened the door before stepping into the hallway. He nearly ran into his brother, barely missing him by a couple inches, and stalked into his bedroom to throw some jeans on. Sam followed once he was decent and took a seat on Dean’s bed, swinging his legs the best he could as he sulked.

“So what’s up, Sammy?” The older Winchester asked, leaning against his dresser and staring at the younger kid.

“I don’t wanna go to school anymore,” Came the sullen reply, followed by a slight pout.

Dean raised his eyebrow at the remark. “Why’s that? You know you got to graduate, kiddo. Make something out of yourself.”

“I’m only twelve, Dean. The most I can make out of myself is finishing work on time. I just, I hate the bullies. They’re so cruel. I don’t want to be a seventh grader. They’ll kill me.”  
“Hey now, they won’t kill you. Don’t let those little shits get to you. Here, I’ll take you to your first day of class and if anyone tries to hurt you, just text me, and I’ll handle it. Now come on, get ready. We’re going to the movies,”

“Thanks Dean,” Sam smiled, standing up and giving him a rather tight hug. “What are we going to see?”

“Well if you hurry, we can see Blackhat. The film with that Thor guy.”

“Chris Hemsworth.”

Dean just laughed and shoved him out of the room so Sam would get ready. He tossed on a white Black Sabbath t-shirt and pulled on his boots and leather jacket and headed out to the living room. He found his car keys lying on the floor, up against the couch, so he grabbed them and pulled out his phone to check the time. Eleven am. He needed to stop sleeping in so late if he wanted to be back on a regular schedule to be going to school on. Summer vacation was so nice, no school, no having to make sure his grades were straight A’s, and he could get out of somewhere that stunted his learning. He knew all the material any way, it was the fact that he never got to expand his mind. AP Chemistry, Trigonometry, History, and English came so easy to him that he wondered if it was actually made for ten year olds. Naturally it wasn’t, he was just smarter than the average person. He wished there were something higher than advanced placement classes, but unfortunately at Calvin Coolidge High School you didn’t get those luxuries.

He grunted when Sam came at him at full speed, trying to tackle him to the ground, causing him to lose balance, but caught himself at the last minute and grabbed onto his brother. He smirked and messed up his hair, before letting go and heading out the door, his brother trailing behind. The sun was obnoxiously bright, but of course, Dean was too proud to wear sun glasses. He narrowed his eyes against the light and walked toward his car, opening the door and sliding into the seat. Closing it behind him, he ran his hands around the steering wheel gently, relishing in the presence of his vehicle. Sam joined him and after putting the key in the ignition and starting up the car, he put it into gear and pulled away from the side of the road. The growling coming from the engine always satisfied the teenager; the vintage sound making him smirk with appreciation. Sam buckled his seat belt, but slid down so it went over his stomach and focused on his cell phone as they went to the movie theatre.

Dean shook his head as he rounded a corner, occasionally glancing at his brother who seemed very engrossed in what he was doing. Coming to a stop at a red light, he looked over to his left at the car next to him. It was a silver 2014 Beamer with blue LED underbody neon lights, which baffled him since it was daylight and kind of hard to see. The driver pressed hard on the accelerator as they held the break, causing the engine to let out a low rumble. Dean raised his eyebrow as the passenger window went down, revealing a tall and rather muscular looking guy, with a hard expression set on his face, and short blond hair. He stared at the man for a few moments before turning his attention back to the light, wondering when it would turn green so he could get away from the people next to him. They made him feel a bit uncomfortable, especially since the guy was still watching them, not pulling his eyes away from Dean.

“You gonna race them?” Sam asked nervously, not entirely ready for a street race.

“Nah Sammy, they’re just being douches,” He murmured his response, but when the light turned green, the people next to them took off, getting up to speed fairly quickly.

Dean flexed his hands on the wheel before driving at a slower speed, but maintaining a good seven miles over the speed limit of forty. He couldn’t shake the look the guy was giving him; it was almost like he was condemning him to death. He frowned, but pulled into the theatre parking lot and stopped in a space somewhat near the entrance. He turned off the engine after putting it into park and leaned back against the seat, sighing quietly and running a hand down his face. Sam looked over at him, before getting out and walking to the sidewalk to stretch. He acted like he had been locked up in the car for hours, even though it was only a fifteen minute drive down to the theatre. The older teenager chewed on his lower lip and got out, shutting the door behind him, then joined his brother on the concrete. Sam raised both eyebrows, not yet mastering just one, then took off toward the door in a quick jog. Dean followed a bit more slowly, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure they weren’t followed.

He decided that watching the movie would help calm his nerves, so when he reached the box office, he paid for the tickets Sam already asked for. He handed the kid one of the tickets and walked inside, glancing at the concessions. His brother was already heading over there, probably on a quest to get popcorn. Dean rolled his eyes, but went after him, pulling ahead and stopping behind a woman and her toddler. He rolled back onto his heels before letting his weight balance out again as they waited for the line to start moving. After three people went, it was the woman and her kid’s turn to go. Sam tugged at his sleeve before pointing at the menu, indicating he wanted a large bucket of popcorn. Dean frowned at the price of six dollars, but when they were called to the counter, he ordered it anyway, as well as two medium drinks.

“You better not go to the bathroom in the middle of the movie. You can’t miss anything this time,” He told Sam, who was bouncing away toward the usher who was waiting to take tickets.

Sam waved his hand to the side in an acknowledgement, handed the tickets to the guy, and walked down the hallway. He got distracted by the cut out boards for some kid’s movie, so Dean had time to give his own ticket and catch up. He put his hand on his back and pushed him toward the theatre, going to number seven. They pulled open the heavy door and headed toward the screen, before turning to go up the long staircase to the top. Luckily, they got there about twenty minutes early, so they got the seats at the back of the theatre. Dean always said it was the best place to sit because you didn’t have to tilt your head; you just had to look straight forward. He propped his feet up on the seats in front of him, leaning back and watching the business advertisements that flickered across the screen. Sam was on his phone again, checking Facebook and other social media type websites. Dean didn’t normally bother with those, mostly because he didn’t know what he was doing, but Sam helped him build a Facebook simply so he can add him as his brother.

After waiting a good thirty minutes, watching previews for some upcoming films, and sitting in silence since his brother was busy, the film began. Dean stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth and washed it down with some Coca Cola, scanning his eyes across the beginning credits and scenes. Half way through, Sam got up to go to the bathroom, earning a glare from the older teenager. He scooted down in the seat and leaned to the left, looking around the chair, then dropping his feet to the ground. It made a loud _thunk!_ sound, which caused a couple people in the room to shush him. He whispered a couple annoyed apologies before going back to focusing on the movie. Sam returned about five minutes later, quickly sitting down and eating popcorn, before asking what he missed. Dean put his finger up to his lips in order to hush the pre-teen so they didn’t get yelled at again. 

Once the end credits began to roll, Sam scampered off to the bathroom once more. Dean swore that kid had zero bladder control and everything went right through him. He sighed and stood up, stretching himself out and rolling his shoulders, before heading down the stairs and out into the hallways. He checked his cell phone for the time, narrowing his eyes at the numbers that read 4:00pm on the dot. He rubbed his eyes and leaned against a wall, underneath a black and white photo of James Dean. He checked his email and texted a couple friends back, occasionally glancing up to see if his brother had come out. He texted him once it was 4:10pm to ask if everything was all right, but upon looking toward the bathroom door, he saw his brother exit, phone in hand. He approached Dean with a smirk, preparing himself to speak.

“I blew up the toilet, it’s flooding everywhere in there,” He said with a small laugh, earning a punch in the shoulder from Dean. 

“Don’t be such a bitch.”

“Don’t be such a jerk.”

On the car ride back to the house, Sam was very quiet, as if something was wrong. He didn’t use his phone, just stared out the window at the passing scenery. Dean frowned, but didn’t say anything at the moment. If there was a problem, his brother would tell him, because that’s how it was between them. No secrets. Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what was going on, but the silence turned out to be deafening. He reached over and turned on the radio, smiling a bit when No Leaf Clover by Metallica began to play. He nodded his head along to the music, turning his head to look at Sam, hoping something had changed, but nothing did. He was still looking out the window, ignoring the vibrations in his hand from the cell phone telling him he had incoming text messages. When they pulled up to the house, he let the car idle as he unbuckled his seat belt and faced his brother.

He took a deep breath. “What’s going on with you? You’re quiet, not answering your phone, and your breath is fogging up my window.”

Sam looked at him with an angry expression before getting out of the car and storming off to the front door. He used his own key to get inside, slamming the door behind him, and more than likely stomping over to his room. Dean groaned and shut the car off; following him inside and going to his brother’s door. Knocking on it, he heard a sharp _go away!_ , but instead of doing what he asked, he opened the door. Sam was laying on his bed, yet when Dean entered, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed his face into the pillow. He wasn’t crying, Dean observed that much, but he could feel the anger and tension in the atmosphere. He sat on the edge of the bed and poked at Sam’s calf muscle until he rolled onto his side and pulled his feet close to his body. He faced the wall and covered his head with the pillow so his brother couldn’t see his face. 

“Sammy, what’s the problem? I thought you had fun, I thought _we_ had fun. This was supposed to be the last thing we did together before we had to go to school again,” He pried, frowning and laying back onto the bed.

“You’re a fucking drunk,” Sam muttered, but it was a little hard to hear because his voice was muffled.

Dean didn’t respond, a bit shocked at the accusation. “No I’m not. What the hell is wrong with you?! I’m not a fucking drunk, I’m not dad.”

“Yes you are!” Sam yelled, throwing the pillow across the room. “Every night you go through a bottle of Jack or something and you get piss drunk. Dean, you’re supposed to be a genius, you’re supposed to be my brother, but all you do is drink. I fucking hate it!” 

Dean sat up, sighing and stared at his feet. “Sammy,”

“No, go away!” He screamed, turning back over and changing his attention to his phone.

Dean rubbed at his own arm before standing up and heading to the door. “I’ll cut back,” He promised, leaving the room with the door open and going down stairs.


End file.
